


Fresco

by yeaka



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, Established Relationship, Ficlet, M/M, Outdoor Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-20
Updated: 2015-06-20
Packaged: 2018-04-05 08:32:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4173021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They enjoy one another in the stands like they should’ve years ago.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fresco

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or any of its contents, and I'm not making any money off this.
> 
> A/N: This isn’t properly British.

The noises Percy makes are snatched up in the wind, but he falls forward to bury his face in Oliver’s neck all the same. Oliver threads his fingers through orange-red hair, pulls Percy against him and _moans_ —it feels better every time.

And it’s best on the pitch, always is. They can’t go right on the field—not in the school year, in broad daylight, where students could wander in and have them both thrown out on their asses—a shame: they’re good teaches otherwise. Oliver misses his team often, but he keeps track of them and they keep in touch, and if ( _when_ ) the injury heals, he’ll be in the game again: a professional keeper, just like he always wanted. 

He doesn’t mind teaching, though. He gets to see the excitement on his students’ faces: the same thrill he used to get every time, still does to a smaller extent. And he gets to see _Percy_ —Merlin, if he’d known Percy was teaching _Defense Against the Dark Arts, of all things_ , it would’ve been so much easier to choose where he spent his down time. The first time he stepped through those grand doors anew, took a seat at the staff table and saw his old crush looking wide-eyed up at him, he felt like he’d caught the Snitch in his hand and tossed it right to his Seeker. 

And now he gets to shove his mouth against that old Prefect’s, loop an arm around his waist and pull him, thrust up into him and swallow down the gasps. He splays his hands up Percy’s back and his own Puddlemore United jersey: the only thing Percy wears. And to think people used to call him a prude. They just didn’t know how to press his buttons. Oliver does, and now they’re fucking under the beating sun, up in the wooden stands with the wind ruffling their hair and Oliver’s robes and Percy’s pale skin, freckles all sun-kissed. His glasses get in the way sometimes when their mouths collide. (He still wears those giant horn-rimmed ones.) But Oliver likes the clack of it, like the sting of Percy’s teeth in his bottom lip and the drag of blunt fingernails dug into his biceps. Percy lifts off of him on trembling thighs, bare against the scratch of Oliver’s trousers. Oliver drops his hands to run over them, slide up Percy’s taut ass and help lift him, so the drop is higher when he plunges back down onto Oliver’s rock-hard cock. 

Percy always makes him hard. Teaching Quidditch gives him a buzz, seeing Percy in the staff room spikes it higher, dragging Percy outside with interlocked hands and childish laughter makes him into some feral beast that just wants to bury its dick in the closest warm body. Percy indulges him too easily. Percy rides his cock like a dancer, long, gangly limbs all used with grace. Percy wraps his arms around Oliver’s neck and arches up, pushes back down, takes Oliver deep into his pulsing channel and breathes, “ _Oliver_ ,” like he’s spent years whispering it in the dark. 

“This was always one of my favourite fantasies,” Oliver answers, husky and in between sharp breaths. He lifts his hips when he can, meeting Percy’s waiting body, but Percy does most of the work, because he’s a stickler for doing everything _right_ , and if Oliver gets too messy, Percy will push him down and do it all. Not that Oliver would mind. He chases a kiss across the side of Percy’s lips as Percy tosses his head aside, letting out a languid groan. 

Then he latches onto Oliver tighter, rolls back up and purrs, “Fuck me in the library and we’ll be even.” Oliver just laughs. He would’ve though the headmaster’s officer would be more Percy’s style, but they’re not _actually_ trying to get fired. Oliver can only hope they’re not caught before they make it to the library, and wherever else they want to catch up on old times. Percy grins, probably at Oliver’s lust-hazed expression, and he pushes his glasses up his nose before pushing his tongue into Oliver’s mouth. 

Maybe he’s loosened up since the first time they were here. Or maybe he always had a wild side. They spent all those years rooming together, too focused on other things to enjoy one another’s arms. At least they can fix it now. Oliver’s still trying to track down some spare Hogwarts uniforms. 

In the meantime, his jersey will more than do. It’s too big for Percy—too short at the bottom but too broad across the shoulders, the sleeves nearly twice as wide as Percy can fit. But it’s so _hot_ all the same, and Oliver runs his hands under it, tracing every part of Percy that he can, while Percy kisses him and rides him and bites into his jaw, until Oliver is close and wishing he wasn’t. 

He wraps his fingers around his lover’s cock, slicked with only sweat, and starts to pump. He tries to be in time with their thrusts, but in truth, he’s erratic. Percy rewards him with mewls and erotic keening noises and a fluctuating channel, and then another choked moan of his name. 

Percy comes first, splattering the front of Oliver’s robes and rocking all the harder, He clutches tight, bites down to stifle his scream, and bucks forward rapid fire. Oliver tries to milk him through it, but it’s too hard to concentrate: Percy always feels best when he’s coming. 

Oliver moans, “ _Perce,_ ” and follows. He buries himself in Percy’s tight rear, holds Percy down and spills everything he has, diving forward to lock Percy in his arms. His roar muffles itself in Percy’s shoulder; he can feel Percy arching against him and letting out a gasp. 

By the time Oliver finishes, he’s panting. He always feels emotionally wrung out after sex with Percy, like it blew his body and his mind. It’s the same high he gets after a good match, that leaves him dizzy and euphoric. He slumps around his lover, ignoring the sun boiling hard along the back of his neck, until Percy pushes him off and sits up. Oliver always hates slipping out of Percy’s hole, though the appeal changes once he’s come.

He still likes having a tie to Percy. Percy takes a seat on the bench next to him, breathing hard and wincing at the stiffness of the boards. But he’s got his wand out of his bag soon enough, and they’re both cleaned up with an easy flick and a wordless spell. Oliver tucks himself back in, and Percy tugs the hem of the jersey lower, hiding his crotch until he’s come down enough to struggle back into trousers. If Oliver could, he’d order Percy to wear nothing but that all day long, but Percy’ll make headmaster long before he ever does. 

They drink in that quiet afterglow, calming down and sweating it out, until Oliver asks, “Want to go to Hogsmeade for dinner?” It’s a bit of a walk after what they went through, but more romantic than anything the house elves can give them. He asks it all the time, but Percy usually turns him down: the travel time makes it an inefficient non-necessity. 

Today, Percy sighs, “Alright,” probably just because it’s Saturday tomorrow, and they can sleep in. (Each other’s arms.)

A little while longer to relax, and Percy kisses his cheek, clambers into clothes and starts to talk about work again. Oliver’s happy and listens. They leave the stands with their hands together like schoolchildren, or at least loving like it.

Not that much has changed.


End file.
